


B is for Brothers

by KateKintail



Series: The ABC Series 2006 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was difficult to be sick. It was also usually difficult to be the oldest sibling in the Weasley family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	B is for Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a collection of short H/C ficlets (they were supposed to be drabbles but I'm terrible at writing short things) from various fandoms. I asked on one of my LiveJournals for one word for each letter of the alphabet, as well as a fandom and/or pairing.

It was difficult to be sick. It was also usually difficult to be the oldest sibling in the Weasley family. He always went out of his way to look after the others. When Ginny had chicken pox, Bill had flown home to help out. When Percy became Head Boy at Hogwarts, Bill had sent a gift and flooed in to talk with Percy for over an hour. When the twins had opened their store, he had helped with all the moving. He loved his family and his place within it, but they took a lot of his time and energy.   
  
Moving back to England from Egypt had come with a barrage of ups and downs. Working with the Order was worth settling for a desk job and leaving friends behind. Even when nightly patrols in the cold and the rain turned a little sniffle in his nose into a terrible head cold.   
  
Bill tried to hide it at work- not too difficult considering Goblins paid more attention to money than their employees. Bill tried to hide it from his parents- much more difficult considering Arthur and Molly's overprotective natures. Bill tried to hide it from the Order- impossible considering Dumbledore.   
  
And so Bill found himself heading home in the middle of the day. He started out the day by planning to stop by the chemist on the way home; he had very little in the way of necessities in his apartment. But after he started losing his voice from all the coughing, he decided to skip that stop. So he planned on scraping together bits of leftovers to make something edible. But, halfway from home, he decided even that was too much effort and that he could settle for just a hot shower before bed. When he was at the end of his street, however, he was willing to give up the shower as well in favor of sleep. Anything else took far too much effort and energy, which he definitely did not have.  
  
He rubbed his nose into his shoulder as he came up the walk and got out his keys. It was ticklish and irritating, just like his throat, and he just wanted to get inside where he could relax and let himself go. But once he'd opened the door, he was faced with a scene he hadn't expected.   
  
"Charlie? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice weak and squeaky. Just saying those few words made him wince and cough a few times.   
  
Charlie set the clicker down to turn off the tele and stood to face Bill. "You're not the only one who's allowed to be the concerned, helpful brother." He walked over and immediately felt Bill's forehead. "You sound just dreadful."  
  
Bill nodded, closing his eyes to the touch. He was sure he wasn't feverish, but the hand against his forehead felt nice just the same. "I feel dreadful," he said, coughing again. "'Scuse me," he whispered, which was about all he could do now.  
  
"I heard you weren't feeling well but you sound worse than I was expecting." He grabbed Bill's arm and risked sounding just like his mother. "Straight to bed with you."   
  
"Just what I'd been planning," said Bill, letting his younger brother pull him down the hallway to the bedroom. When they got there, Bill stopped short in surprise. His warmest pair of pajamas were set out on top of the bed, upon which several extra blankets had already been piled. The top of the nightstand was covered by tissue boxes, a thermos of water, a thermometer in its case, and a bag of cough drops. There was also something the size of a small box that was blasting out hot, moist steam.   
  
"I got in this morning and thought I might get things ready for you," Charlie explained, setting Bill down on the bed and waiting while the man changed. "Hopefully I haven't forgotten anything. I'm used to taking care of hurt animals and sick dragons. They're a little more difficult than people but it's largely the same."   
  
Bill pulled his pajama top on and reached back to free his ponytail where it had been trapped against his neck and under the shirt collar. "Looks to me like you got everything," Bill said, inspecting the assembled sick-accessories. "Impressive."  
  
"This is only half of it," Charlie went on. "I made some soup and a few helpings of that extra-spicy Romanian dish you like. And I stocked your fridge with the necessities- it was pitiful before, Bill, just catsup and cheese and beer. I also swung by the library and took out a few new books for you to read while you're in bed. And..." he gestured to the bed. "Go on, get in."   
  
Bill obeyed, swinging his legs up and shuffling himself under the covers. His feet met with something incredibly warm, but far from hot. His toes wiggled in his socks and he pressed his feet against it, feeling warmth rush through his whole body.   
  
"A warming pad. We use them in the nests of baby dragons who don't have mothers and can't be fostered because we're on location or what not. They're charmed to stay warm for days." He stroked Bill's head gently. "Do you like it?"  
  
Bill sighed happily. "You're the best brother ever," he whispered, quickly breaking into thick coughs. And when he reached for the water, Charlie was already pouring a cupful for him. When Bill sat up to drink, Charlie plumped Bill's pillows to help him stay more upright. And when Bill lay back again, he stroked Bill's head again. "Seriously," he said, half-squeaking instead of whispering. "You're not going anywhere, right?"   
  
Charlie stopped stroking and, instead, punched Bill in the shoulder. "And you're supposed to be the smartest of us!" he laughed. "Yes, I came all the way from Romania to cook you soup and wash your sheets and split as soon as you fell asleep. Stupid Bill! Of course I'm not going anywhere."   
  
Bill coughed but smiled blushingly. He accepted a book from Charlie and eyed it curiously.   
  
Charlie explained. "I borrowed a few by wizards and witches, too, but I know how much you love those muggle mysteries Father got you into."   
  
Still coughing, Bill made sure to give his brother a grateful albeit quiet 'thank you' as soon as he could. If Charlie was even half as good with magical creatures as he was with people, Bill had no trouble understanding why he was held in so high regard at his job.   
  
Furthermore, when Charlie jumped up onto the bed and sat beside him, putting a hand on Bill's shoulder and letting Bill rest half of the book against his thigh so it was at a proper reading angle, Bill could not imagine anyone else he would have wanted there, taking care of him. This reminded him of when they were growing up in The Burrow, looking after each other when Mum and Dad were busy with their younger siblings.   
  
Bill sniffled and glanced past Charlie to the tissue box. He had barely moved a hand off the book when Charlie reached over instead and got a tissue for him. Bill blew his nose, then coughed into it a few times. Then, when he went to toss it aside, Charlie took it from him and threw it away for him in order to give Bill nothing to worry about.  
  
As the eldest Weasley sibling, Bill really hadn't expected this sort of attention or caring. And though he certainly hadn't expected Charlie to come all this way and do so much for him like this, he had to admit he was exceedingly glad that Charlie was there now to make it easier for him to be sick.


End file.
